


There's a Point to Everything

by tigeressdion



Category: Bourne Legacy (2012), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), S.W.A.T. (2003), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hurt Locker (2008)
Genre: Clint Barton is Aaron Cross, Clint Barton is Brian Gamble, Clint Barton is William Brandt, Clint Barton is William James, Clint Barton-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Red Room (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigeressdion/pseuds/tigeressdion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, Hawkeye. Master assassin, Avenger, saviour of the Earth. And, apparently, someone with the ability to piss off an organisation with which he's had no contact. Ever. Someone wants Clint dead. Nothing new, but apparently this time it's personal. Even though Clint has no idea what's going on. <br/>Includes all of the Avengers, set after Thor 2 before Cap America 2.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shawarma, A Mission, A Hospital

So, there they were. The Avengers, eating shawarma. Well, Clint thought, he'd ended up in worse places after a fight. He was exhausted, tired to the bone, mechanically moving his jaw as he ate and his left leg resting on Nat's chair while the occupant looked at him with concern. She'd forced him, stubborn Russian that she was, to at least allow himself that small mercy, note to self: smashing New York skyscraper windows with your feet isn't good for the bones. As far as Clint could figure, he must have done something to his ankles, maybe broken them? He couldn't be sure. Everyone was silent as they ate, and only Thor seemed unaffected by the battle they'd just partaken in as he stuffed yet more shawarma into his mouth.

The silence was interrupted by none other than Commander Nick Fury walking through the door.

“Commander!” Stark declared, grinning at the man. “Come, join us, it's on me.”

“Shut up, Stark.” Fury growled, “I'm not staying.” He looked at Clint, who allowed his head to drop in a moment's disbelief before nodding and removing his leg from Nat's chair.

“Wait, Clint, where are you going?” Nat asked quickly, alert at once.

“He has a mission, Romanoff,” Fury said coolly, meeting her icy gaze.

“He just finished a mission, can't he have a few hour's break?” She demanded, looking to Clint himself and was surprised to find none of the rebelliousness there.

Clint looked at Nat with as much warmth as he could muster, and show in front of the Avengers, he stood and looked down at her for a moment, before reaching into a zipped pocket of his trousers. From it he pulled a small jewellery box, black velvet, which he handed to Nat, winking at her as he did so.

“Can you walk, Barton?” Fury asked.

“Just about, sir.” He replied, grabbing his empty quiver and bow from where they'd been leaning against his chair.

“Good, you better keep up then.”

* * *

 

They were stood, all of the Avengers, watching the two Asgardians return to their home. Nat leaned over to Clint and whispered in his ear, “I knew you weren't gonna have to go on a mission just yet.”

Clint only smirked in reply, and it was once they were in Nat's car did he actually voice his reply.

“I do have to go on another mission, Nat. Fury gave me the briefing, I might as well be gone.”

“When are you leaving?” She asked, keeping her eyes on the road, she hated it when Clint had missions without her.

“Tonight,” he sighed softly and shifted his legs, which still ached on occasion, along with his head. “You haven't opened the box yet, have you?”

Nat drew in a sharp breath, “no, not yet. Clint, if it's a wedding ring, I swear I'll-”

Clint's laughter cut her off, “I wouldn't worry about that, Nat.” And paused to smirk as he realised he'd rhymed. “Just, do open it, promise me.”

“Alright, Clint, I promise.”

* * *

 

Inside the box was a necklace, a delicate arrow made of silver, gleaming against the velvet cushioning beneath it. Natasha was in her apartment, curled up on her large leather sofa, she pulled the necklace out of the box and studied it for a moment, before slipping it around her neck and fixing the clasp. Underneath the cushion was a note, written in Clint's familiar scrawl.

_Nat, This one's going to be a long one, I don't know how long I'll be gone exactly, but hopefully Fury will let you know I'm alive. ~~Don't worry.~~ Actually, do worry, it's me. _

_Remember, there's a point to everything._

_Don't die, Fury would make me pay for your funeral._

_Clint_

Natasha couldn't help but smile at the note, it was so typical of Clint, he always left her a note somehow when he went on a mission, but this was the first time he'd left her jewellery. However, it wasn't the first time he'd left some kind of riddle at the end of the note, and Natasha had a feeling she knew what this one meant.

Her suspicions were proved correct during with one particularly resilient bodyguard of some mob boss, she'd beaten him every single way she knew how, and yet he still wasn't done. It was a spur of the moment thing, really, Natasha had taken a few hits to the head and she was out of options. She yanked the chain from around her neck and stabbed the small arrow into the guy's ankle as he loomed over her, within seconds he was collapsed on the floor next to her. Dead.

“Thanks, Clint.” Natasha breathed, and she plucked the arrow from the agent's ankle, wondering how many more times Clint was going to save her life.

* * *

 

There were times when Clint hated his job. That time in Afghanistan when he been left for dead in an old barn amongst cattle was one of them. Another was the time he'd spent weeks tracking down what he thought was a terrorist organisation when it turned out to be a group of druggie kids taking themselves way to seriously online. This was another of the times, just another chapter in the endless book of 'Clint Barton Can't Catch a Break'. Because, seriously? Trekking through the Sahara desert, a piece of cloth form what had been his parachute tied around his head and the rest around his body, with barely enough supplies to last him a week in a luxury apartment, let alone the middle-of-freakin'-nowhere, was by far the most spectacular screw up that had ever occurred to him. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. S.H.I.E.L.D pilots were supposed to be good at their job, so how had they got their aim so catastrophically wrong that he was now trapped underneath the relentless midday sun instead of spying on the leader of a large drug ring in Johannesburg? Not one of his forms of communications was working, for some reason they malfunctioned if so much as tried to turn them on. The unforgiving sun continued to beat down on him and his bow and arrows were so heavy that Clint seriously considered just dumping them then and there, there was nothing for him to shoot at. What was he supposed to do with them, fire arrows at the sun and hope it got the message?

The thing that angered Clint the most was not that he would die out here, though that was a major inconvenience, but that he would die for no reason. Nobody would even know for certain, he would be labelled as M.I.A and S.H.I.E.L.D would soon enough find someone to replace him; they always did. He couldn't help his thoughts drifting to Nat, he hoped she'd liked the necklace, and that she'd been able to use it. Maybe him dying out here wouldn't be so bad if he knew he'd managed to keep her safe one last time, though it wasn't like she needed it.

In a way, Clint supposed he should be thankful to Tony Stark. What were the odds that the billionaire would have gotten bored at that exact time, and that he happened to decide to fly over Africa, and that he decided to fly over the exact part of the Sahara that Clint was stranded in was nothing short of a miracle. Still, if the guy was going to gloat about it then there was no way Clint was thanking him.

These were Clint's final thoughts as his body dropped to the ground, as Tony Stark landed beside him and said: “not looking quite as light on your feet there, Legolas.” Then Clint blacked out.

* * *

 

The world came into focus around Clint and he began to wish it hadn't, he hated hospitals, always had and he was fairly sure he always would. There were machines beeping around him and some kind of drip feeding into his arm.

“Ugh,” he groaned and tried to raise his head, but quickly decided against it as waves of dizziness rolled over him.

“Woah, take it easy there, Clint.” Nat said, her voice unusually gentle. “You had heat stroke, kind of still do, I guess.”

“This is getting way too normal,” Clint said with a small smirk as he looked over to Nat who, he noticed immediately, was wearing the arrow necklace.

“Well, if you will insist on wandering around the Sahara desert for no apparent reason with inadequate supplies then...” Nat spread her hands, “it's going to become the norm.”

“Whatever,” Clint muttered. “Fury had better have fired the guys that dropped me there.”

Nat frowned, “you mean you weren't there for your mission?”

Clint scoffed, “'course not, I was supposed to be in Johannesburg, that was not what I planned.”

“So you just leapt off the jet without a second thought?” Nat asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Clint said with a small frown. “You know how they had Stark design the new jets? I think they let him have too much of a free reign with it, there was some kind of hologram device installed, I was looking at Johannesburg when I jumped of the jet.”

“Someone really wanted you dead, then.” Nat mused.

“I feel so honoured.” Clint said drily.

“Should do, personally I've got no idea why someone would want you dead, Katniss. You're nowhere near rich enough.” Tony said from the doorway where he was leaning, a Starbucks in hand.

“Stark,” Clint said, deciding not to comment. “Guess I owe you now.”

“If you want,” Tony said with a shrug, walking into the room. “Oh, Fury's pissed by the way. Something to do with you not using your comms?”

“They weren't working,” Clint said through gritted teeth, getting tired of people telling him, effectively, he had been a moron.

Tony frowned, puzzled; for once. “What do you mean, 'they weren't working'?”

“As in,” Clint said with exaggerated patience. “I tried to turn them on, and they wouldn't turn on.”

It was at this point, possibly to prevent any further argument from developing, that a nurse bustled in. “Alright! That's enough excitement for now, come on you two, leave the poor man alone.” Either the nurse was unaware she was speaking to the famous Tony Stark and the infamous Black Widow or she was simply too dedicated to her job to be bothered by the billionaire and the master assassin.


	2. An Argument, A Phone Call, A Meeting

“I feel like I'm being put into daycare,” Clint grumbled as Nat parked in the garage of the new and improved Stark Tower (though Clint did hear it was being called the 'Avenger's Tower' now.) The woman next to him merely raised an eyebrow before smoothly exiting the car and, not waiting for Clint, heading to the elevator, Clint strode after her, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“I see that Stark got the tower up pretty quick,” he remarked.

“It's been over a year, Clint.” Nat reminded him, her tone detached.

He frowned slightly at that, and discovered she was right. “Huh, guess time flies.” Clint said with a small grin, which quickly fled his face at Nat's cold expression.

“Over a year, and nothing! Even for you, Clinton Barton, that is ridiculous!” She snapped, evidently she had been holding back at the hospital.

Clint frowned at the use of his full name, his brows drew together in confusion at her statement. “What do you mean? Fury should have-”

“Well Fury didn't!” Nat glared at him icily, “and really? One note, that's it?”

“It's not like you've never been on long missions before!” Clint retorted, his temper flaring a little; he wasn't just going to be told off like a kid.

“I know I have, but I always check in regularly.” She replied quickly, the frost not leaving her eyes. “That's your problem, you know that, Clint? You're unreliable, honestly, there are times when you're worse than Stark!”

The elevator doors dinged open, and the two master assassins found themselves faced with Tony Stark and Steve Rogers; both gaping in the direction of the elevator.

“I'm taking that as an insult,” Tony said, gathering himself quickly. “No-one is more unreliable than me.” He declared.

“Not something to be proud of, sweetie!” Pepper said as she dashed through the living room, towards the elevator. The assassins stepped aside as the CEO of Stark Enterprises marched past them and into the elevator. “I'll see you soon!” She called to Tony, who winked at her before the doors closed.

“Feed from the elevator directed to JARVIS?” Clint guessed, judging that, from the looks that had been on Steve and Tony's faces when they arrived, his and Nat's argument had been heard.

“Pretty much,” Tony nodded, smirking a little at Clint. “So what's up, trouble in paradise?”

“Oh, go suck a lug-wrench, Stark.” Nat snapped, striding past him and through the living room, down a corridor.

“What did I do?” Tony asked, feigning ignorance.

Steve raised an eyebrow, “well, you weren't exactly sensitive.” He said, rolling his eyes as the billionaire pulled a face.

“Whatever, she's not usually so hissy about it.” He said defensively. “You really screwed up, Katniss.” Tony added, looking at Clint, who scowled.

“Yeah well, we can't all pay women to forget their troubles.” He said, which was neither justified nor called for, but he was having a bad day.

Tony raised an eyebrow, glancing at Steve who had crossed his arms across his chest. “I'm beginning to think I'm not welcome in my own home,” he said, voice verging on a whine.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face and released a sigh, “sorry.” He muttered, if only the mollify the offended inventor. “Long day, which room's gonna be mine?” He asked, looking at Tony.

“JARVIS can show you to it,” Tony said, apparently now all was forgiven. “But don't be a Banner and hide in your room all day.”

As Clint smirked and made to step past him, Tony put out a hand to stop him. “Where's your bags?” He asked, a frown of puzzlement creasing his brow.

“Really?” Clint raised an eyebrow, “I've been on a mission for over a year, you think I have clothes with me?”

“Well, why didn't you bring some stuff over from your place?” Tony asked. “I was living at the base that got destroyed,” Clint said. “And I didn't exactly have time to grab my things,” he said, an odd expression crossing his face, but it was covered by his dry tone.

Tony shrugged, “whatever. JARVIS will have taken your measurements, get him to buy you some clothes.” He said, stepping towards the elevator.

“Uh, okay...”

“And don't worry about money,” Tony added as the doors opened. “It can go on my account.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Clint grinned at Tony, who threw up a peace sign to him as the doors closed. “What about you, Cap'?” Clint asked, turning to the man.

Steve rolled his eyes and smirked at Clint, “I'll be leaving you to deal with Tasha. I have some errands to run anyway.”

“Real supportive of ya',” Clint muttered, waving to Steve and turning to walk down the corridor. “This way, sir.” Came the automated voice of JARVIS, lighting up a doorway a little way down the corridor. “Erm, thanks.” He said, pushing open the door and stepping inside the room.

It was cosy, and obviously Tony had taken it upon himself to design and furnish Clint's room himself with his limited knowledge of the man. Instead of a bed, a hammock was hanging from the ceiling; instead of a normal chair, there was a purple bubble chair which hung in front of a desk against the wall. The walls were painted a dark purple and there was a plush, black carpet under his feet, a set of French doors led on to a balcony, which Clint immediately opened and stepped onto. From it he could see most of New York; of course Tony had taken it upon himself to house Clint on the floor second from the top. Clint re-entered his room, and saw that on the desk there was a Stark tablet and phone, it seemed Tony didn't believe anybody could survive without technology, Clint mused as he picked up the tablet and sat back in the bubble chair which, he had to admit, was actually pretty cool.

* * *

 

After shopping online for a few hours, no expense had been spared for Tony, Clint uncurled himself from the chair and stretched, clicking his neck. His stomach growled and Clint set off in search of food, really he should have been looking for Nat to talk to her, but; he reasoned, nothing good would come of talking on an empty stomach. Though, that wasn't the real reason he was avoiding her. Unreliable, that was what she'd called him. It had hit home in a way Nat couldn't possibly know. He had been unreliable when Loki had turned him to his side, unreliable when he brought home the assassin instead of killing her, like he was supposed to. Unreliable when he'd let Hunt see a little of his true self. Unreliable when he'd nearly died from taking the virus when the chems ran out. Unreliable when Eldridge had been shot in the leg because of him. Unreliable , reckless; that was him. Clint tried to shake the sombre thoughts from his head, the guilt would overwhelm him, and if that happened; he would be no use to anybody.

Having found the kitchen without getting lost too many times, Clint had decided against making himself anything and instead ordered a pizza, there was barely any food in the kitchen and he doubted even the most resourceful agents wouldn't have been able to make anything edible from the contents of the fridge. As he was waiting for his pizza to arrive, by seating on the couch in what appeared to be the living room and flicking through TV channels, his phone rang. Clint frowned slightly as he picked up the phone, it was new, but he guessed Tony could have given out the number to anyone who might need it. The number came up as unknown, but Clint answered anyway; it could be someone calling from another number, the people he knew weren't exactly in the habit of keeping devices around that could be tracked.

“Who is this?” He said by way of greeting, turning down the TV.

“You thought you could get away.”

“What?” Clint's frown deepened. “Who is this?” He repeated.

“We know all about you.”

“Tony, if this is some kind of joke-”

“Aaron Cross. William Brandt.”

Clint faltered, those were both names from two of his most dangerous missions, and he had only just dropped the last persona; that had been a part of his mission.

“William James.”

That name sent a jolt of pain through him. Connie, his son. The memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced them down. “What do you want?” Clint growled into the phone, leaning forward. “Who are you?”

“You left the CIA, the army, even the IMF without them ever questioning it. But we know who you are, and who you have been.” The voice on the other end of the line was feminine, cold, betraying not a sliver of emotion.

“What do you want?” Clint demanded, his voice was tight, controlled, and very, very angry.

“You'll find out soon enough.” The voice betrayed its first hint of emotion, the barest trace of cool amusement before the woman hung up.

It was all Clint could do to stare at the phone, held limply in his hand, his mind whirling at the implications of the conversation he'd just had. The voice, the woman, she'd known him. Worse than that, she'd known everything. He must have screwed up at some point. Or he'd been sold out. Clint's jaw clenched at the thought. He didn't necessarily trust the people at S.H.I.E.L.D, but he didn't think they'd sell him out; especially not with everything they could lose.

“Clint?”

He whipped around at the sound of the voice, feminine; yes, but hers contained emotion.

Nat walked slowly over to him, “Clint, what happened?” All the tension from their earlier fight dissolved, and he could see the rare concern in her eyes.

“I-” He paused, swallowed, and started again. “Somebody knows, Nat.”

She was immediately alert, icy blue eyes searching his own pearl grey ones. “What do they know?” She asked.

“Everything,” Clint almost choked on the words, but he swallowed the lump in his throat; those names brought up emotions he didn't like to deal with. “My aliases. Some of the most important missions I've ever done, and they knew who I was.”

Nat pursed her lips, she knew how that could undo a person; especially an agent such as Clint. “Do you know who it was?”

He shook his head morosely, “no. It was a woman, that's all I know.” Clint said, “but it must be to do with whoever sent me to get my suntan.” He added drily, the memory of the harsh Saharan sun still vivid in his mind.

“We need to call the others,” Nat said decisively. “If they know about you, they could know everything, about all of us. You get that, JARVIS?”

“Mr Stark is on his way up now, Agent Romanoff, as is Dr Banner. I have called Captain Rogers and Thor is on his way.” JARVIS replied, and Clint raised his eyebrows at Nat.

“Assemble?”

* * *

 

It wasn't exactly as Clint had imagined it, when he had pictured the world's greatest heroes assembling to address a serious breach in security, he had imagined it... Well, differently.

Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, was sprawled in an armchair, fiddling with his phone. Thor; son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, was sitting on the couch, hunched over a box of pop tarts. Steve Rogers; also known as Captain America, was leaning back on the couch next to Thor, sketching something absently in a notepad. Dr Bruce Banner, also the Hulk, was sitting in a chair, eyes darting around behind his glasses as he settled amongst his fellow 'superheroes'. Natasha was standing up, in front of the TV, with Clint pacing behind the couch and just out of the group. He wished there was a good high spot in the tower, he saw better from a distance and Clint thought he might be able to figure something out if he could just get up higher. Sure, he was in a skyscraper which towered above most of New York, but it didn't have quite the same effect.

“Everybody listen.” Natasha ordered, her cool, calm voice demanding attention. “The situation has been explained to you, now we need to do something about it.”

“Well, all due respect, Legolas,” Tony said, of course he spoke first. “But, why? Shouldn't S.H.I.E.L.D be dealing with this? Call Nick.”

“Because he is your team-mate, Stark.” Steve said, looking up from his notepad to fix Tony with his stare. “We help each other, and we don't question it.”

“His question still stands, though.” Bruce pointed out, “why isn't S.H.I.E.L.D getting involved in this? I would have thought they'd want to be informed about this, especially as one of their agents could be compromised.”

The whole team looked to Clint, who paused in his pacing and raised an eyebrow at them. “What?”

“It's just...” Bruce trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“You have been around least, Clint.” Steve explained, “no offence, but we don't really know you-”

Clint waved away the apology, it made perfect sense. Fury liked to keep Nat close at hand, and not send her off on long missions. Tony, of course, would have been hanging around his beloved tower, Bruce with him. Steve had been enlisted into S.H.I.E.L.D, and had much the same job as Nat. Even Thor was living on Earth now.

“And so, we don't know why you might be targeted.” Steve finished, and Tony, Thor and Bruce nodded.

“Do you even know?” Tony asked, looking at Clint curiously.

“He works for S.H.I.E.L.D,” Nat cut in. “He always going to be a target.”

“Anyway,” she continued. “This is going nowhere. Stark, I need you to see if you can trace the call from Clint's phone.”

“On it,” Tony nodded with a grin, he stood up and held out his hand to Clint, who gave him the phone reluctantly.

“I just got this,” he muttered, and from the small smirk that tugged on Tony's mouth, he figured the other man heard.

“In the meantime,” Nat said, looking at the other three. “Steve, you check with Fury, see if he'd received any weird threats or messages recently. Bruce...” She trailed off, unsure of what to ask the man.

“It's alright,” Bruce said quickly. “I'll go with Steve, Fury might be a bit more willing to talk with me around.” Steve smiled at Bruce and the two stood, then headed to the elevator with Tony.

“Is there any job for me?” Thor asked, looking at Nat.

“Yes,” she said. “Clint is going to make a list of everyone with a grudge against him, and you're going to check them out.”

Clint spluttered, staring at Nat in disbelief. “You can't be serious. There's no way I'll be able to get everyone I've ever pissed off.”

The look he received from Nat somewhat convinced him otherwise, but he still grumbled as he went to fetch the Stark tablet; he'd be damned if he wasn't going to cut a few corners with his ridiculous workload.


	3. Kudos, A Memory, A Talk

“That's it, that's everyone on the list,” Clint said, crossing his arms and looking up at Nat from the couch. “He's checked up on everyone, kudos by the way,” he added, nodding to Thor, who grinned back at him. “And none of them are up to anything even mildly nefarious.”

“Well, maybe Tony found something,” Nat suggested.

“Tony found nothing,” the billionaire stepped out from the elevator, tossing the phone back to Clint, who snatched it from the air.

“How did you find nothing?” Natasha demanded, raising an eyebrow at Tony. “You hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D's most secret files, and you can't trace a call.”

Tony pouted, “yeah, just keep talking about it. That'll make me more compliant.”

“Maybe the Captain and the doctor managed to get the Director to tell them something,” Thor said, tugging at the plaid shirt he was wearing. It was a little odd seeing the Asgardian wearing normal clothes, but since he'd moved in with Jane he'd taken to wearing normal clothes, which currently included green plaid shirt, a red t-shirt, jeans and leather working boots.

“Doubt it,” Clint muttered moodily. “Still have no idea what I even did to piss this woman off.”

“Overreaction to a one night swing?” Tony asked, smirking at Clint.

Natasha stiffened almost imperceptibly, but relaxed almost immediately.

Clint shook his head, “don't think so, I don't get distracted on missions.” He lied smoothly, deciding it'd be best not to mention the three missions the woman had mentioned where he had gotten 'distracted'.

“Oh, okay,” Tony shrugged, “maybe it's some new organisation even we don't know yet.”

“Maybe,” Clint said, nodding slowly. “Must be some organisation though, how'd they get all that intel on me?”

* * *

 

Brian Gamble. It was odd that he should think of that name now. Fury frowned at the memory. Barton had been cast the role of Brian Gamble, the cop turn rogue. In the end of that mission Barton's death had had to be faked, it had been done in order for him to get out of going to prison. That mission had been a big deal, Fury himself had taken part in it.

“Sir,” the voice of his secretary sounded into his office. “Captain Rogers and Dr Banner are here to see you.”

Though he had no idea why the two Avengers would be visiting he said: “let them in.”.

A minute later Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner stepped in to his office, “sir.” Steve said politely, nodding to him.

“Director Fury,” Dr Banner said, as he and Steve took seats in front of Fury's desk.

“Captain Rogers, Dr Banner. What brings you here?” Fury asked, leaning back in his chair.

“There's been an... issue with Agent Barton.” Steve said carefully.

“Another one?” Fury sighed, “I'm beginning to think he's losing his touch.”

Bruce shifted in his chair, “he had this call... The person who called him, they knew him. She knew his aliases, from some of his most dangerous mission, he said.” Bruce said, studying Fury closely.

The Director didn't allow a flicker of emotion to cross his face, “She?” He paused, then continued. “Has Stark been able to track the signal?”

“We don't know, sir.” Steve said, “we came straight to you, we were wondering if you knew anything that might be helpful?”

“If I know anything, I'll only be telling Agent Barton. And then it will be up to him what you find out. Which should be nothing.” But that had always been Barton's way, he rarely followed orders if he thought he could make a better call. It was, admittedly, very rare for his decisions to have back results, but he could sometimes be a little... unreliable.

“Tell him to come see me,” Fury said, but his tone made it clear it was an order.

The two Avengers took that as their cue to leave, both standing and nodding respectfully to the Director before leaving the office.

* * *

 

“Fury wants to talk to you, Clint.” Steve said, stepping out of the elevator.

“What?” Clint groaned, “I didn't even do anything.”

Nat smirked at him, they were both slouched on the couch, watching Lord of the Rings, to Tony's great amusement.

“Well, he wouldn't tell us anything. He seemed pretty keen to talk to you.” Bruce said, holding the elevator. “You find anything, Tony?”

“No,” Tony mumbled, a small frown creasing his forehead as he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen.

“Okay, well, I'll be in my lab, if anyone needs me.” Bruce said, giving a small wave to chorus of 'goodbyes'.

“I don't think you should keep Fury waiting, Clint.” Steve said, dropping down in an armchair, eyes flicking from the screen to his team-mate.

“I'll do as I damn well please.” Clint muttered, glaring at the screen.

Tony broke the slightly tense silence that followed by pointing at the screen and grinning madly, “hey, look, it's you Legolas!”

* * *

 

Late that night, when Clint was attempting to get some sleep in the surprisingly comfortable hammock, there was a light knock on his door.

“Who 's it?” He mumbled, reaching for his gun by instinct.

“It's me,” Nat said softly, stepping inside the room and flicking on the light.

Clint groaned and pulled his pillow over his face, “wa's goin' on?” He asked.

“This whole deal has got you pretty shaken,” Nat said, sitting lightly on the edge of the hammock.

“'M fine, Nat.” Clint said, removing the pillow and squinting at her.

“Don't bother trying to lie, Clint.” Nat said with a small smile, “especially not when you're half asleep.”

“Fine, it shook me up. 'Course it did, nobody's supposed to know about my missions unless I tell them. On my own head be it, kind of thing. You know how this works, Nat.” Clint said, blinking sleep from his eyes to clear his slightly bleary vision.

Natasha breathed a small sigh and rested her hand on his arm, “we'll figure this out, you know that, Clint. You've got the whole team at your back, this won't be any different to every other mission we've worked on worse than this.” She said, her tone comforting, which was rare for Nat.

Clint managed not to flinch at her words, there were several missions he'd rather this one was different from. “Thanks, Nat.” He said, giving her a small grin. “Not used to you being all warm and cuddly, it suits you.”

Natasha smirked and slapped his arm lightly, “don't get used to it.” She warned, “I could break your arm right now and you wouldn't be able to stop me.”

“I know,” Clint said with a shrug, as best he could manage in a hammock. “But you won't.”

She wouldn't, of course not. Nat stood and padded towards the door, just before she left the room, she glanced over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Clint. Make sure you get some sleep.” She said.

“G'night, Nat.” Clint murmured, “you too.”

* * *

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

It was late the next morning, after ten, and Clint had finally decided to pay Fury a visit. He dropped down from the vent and on top of Fury's desk.

“You moved your desk,” he said accusingly, looking down at Fury.

“Yes, I hear you have a problem?” Fury said coolly.

Clint hopped down from the desk and sprawled in a chair, raising an eyebrow at Fury, “yeah. Would've figured that's pretty obvious.” He said.

“What aliases do they know?” Fury asked, leaning forwards and resting his hands on the desk.

“William James, William Brandt and Aaron Cross. As far as I know.” Clint fidgeted with his hands for a moment before meeting Fury's eyes again. “Why would she do that? Why would she announce to me that she knows them, wouldn't it be better to let someone high up know? You, for example.”

“Obviously it's not to do with S.H.I.E.L.D,” Fury said. “Whatever this is, it's personal. Have you got any idea who 'she' is?” He asked.

Clint shook his head, “none. I'm not in the business of pissing off women, they're generally more dangerous than the men.” He said with a small smirk.

“This is not a laughing matter, Barton.” Fury said sharply, “if someone knows about you they could know about anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“You know, Nat said almost the exact same thing. You making clones now?” Clint asked, his smirk remaining.

Fury stiffened in his seat, “you need to take this seriously, Barton.” He snapped, “so quit the act for a minute and think, because that could well be the thing that got you into this mess.”

The smirk was wiped from Clint's face, he scowled. “I don't know. Alright? I don't know. I've always been careful, I think, which is why I make sometimes make decisions that go against orders. Because I think.”

Fury sighed heavily, “fine. We'll keep working on this, you keep out of anything even mildly violent. Just go back to the tower for a few days until we figure this out.”

Clint stood, his movements stiff as he walked to the door, not even gracing Fury with a backwards glance.

* * *

 

The tower had a gym. In the gym there was a punching bag. It was probably a good thing the tower had an inanimate object made for the sole purpose of having violence inflicted upon it, because otherwise it would have been an animate object which was having the full fury of Clint Barton inflicted upon it.

He was angry, of course he was. Clint had no idea what exactly was happening, he felt powerless, and he had no idea why whatever it was that was happening, was happening. Clint didn't know how long he was in the gym, beating up the punching bag, but he did have a vague idea of how long she'd been there.

Natasha knew that he had to do this, had to work out his anger like this. It was either this or screaming at someone, and that wouldn't be healthy for either of the people involved.

“Like what you see?” Clint asked at last, leaning forward against the punching bag, he forced a joking tone, but they both knew it wasn't real.

She walked forwards, towards him, silent as a cat. “I meant what I told you last night,” Nat said softly, “we will figure this out. If not the others then just us, it can't be worst than Budapest, right?”

Clint chuckled, “that's true. Thought you might kill me, then.”

Nat stepped into his line of sight, a small smile tugging on her lips as she toyed with the arrow necklace. “Thank you for this,” she said, looking from the jewellery to Clint. “It saved my life.”

“I'm glad you figured it out,” Clint said, reaching out and taking the arrow in his fingers, studying it for a moment. “That was an easy one.”

“Maybe you're losing your touch,” Nat said, her fingers brushing his.

“'Course 'm not,” Clint grinned. “But if I'd made it too hard, you might not have been able to use it.”

Nat tutted, smirking at him and shaking her head. “Don't push your luck.”

“Everyone says that to me,” Clint said, fake-pouting at her. “I think it's just them being jealous of my awesomeness.”

“There we go, now you sound like you again.” Nat said, releasing his hand and letting hers drop to her side.

Before Clint could reply, the voice of Tony Stark sounded over a speaker in the gym.

_“Attention all less-awesome Avengers, you all need to get up to the Avengers' room-”_

_“Living room, he means the living room.”_

_“Pepper, this is my announcement-”_

_"But you're using the building's speakers, and I own fifty percent of this building, so it's fifty percent my announcement.”_

_“How did you even get on to this speaker system?”_

_“I'm afraid, sir, that would be me.”_

_“JARVIS! First Agent and now Pepper, it's like you don't know where your true loyalty lies.”_

_“My apologies, sir.”_

_“Anyway, despite interfering girlfriends and traitorous AI's, meeting in the Avengers' room in five.”_

Clint smirked at Nat, “sounds like we're assembling again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so so sorry this took so long! I have a very long list of excuses but I'll keep it concise, I had revision (no writing), exams (even less writing) and then moved house (no wifi= no posting).   
> Anyway, many thanks to those who've dropped by, left comments (very encouraging- thanks again), or kudos or even bookmarked it!   
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, sweeties!


	4. Another Mission, A Cat, A Leap

“So, Fury called.” Tony drawled from where he was taking up the whole sofa in the 'Avengers' Room'.

“And?” Natasha prompted, crossing her arms over her chest from her position at the window.

“And he wants us to go out and fight evil, you know, the usual.” Tony answered, glancing at the other Avengers.

“He got a lead on creepy lady?” Clint questioned, perching on the arm of the sofa.

“Hmm? Oh, no. Something about some terrorist organisation wanting to blow up New York? I don't know; JARVIS took notes.”

“Indeed I did, sir.” Came the familiar English accent. “And one of the points that Director Fury was particularly clear on was that Agent Barton should not take part in this mission. He said, and I quote, 'I don't care what Natasha threatens, if Barton goes on that mission I'll blow up the God damn Avengers' Tower.'”

“So basically,” Tony summarised helpfully. “You're not invited, Legolas.”

“But we shall regale you with tales of our battle when we return, Hawk.” Thor said, beaming at Clint and slapping him on the shoulder.

“Uh, yeah.” Steve said, nodding. “Anyway, everyone go get suited up.”

Bruce, who had been sitting silently in an armchair, spoke up. “Do I need to go along? Or, uh, does the Other Guy?”

“Director Fury did not appear to think that was necessary,” JARVIS supplied. “He seemed to think it best if you were to remain here, though it would be best if you were prepared to leave in a hurry.”

“Okay...” Bruce said, standing up and heading for the elevator with a relieved expression. “I'll be in my lab.”

And with that, the majority of the Avengers dispersed, with Steve telling them to be ready in ten minutes or less.

 

As the living room quickly emptied, Clint sighed to himself. He understood Fury's reasoning behind not letting him go on a mission right now, but he was bored. Life at the Avengers' Tower was nice, yes. But Clint lived for action, thrived in it. And now that was being taken away from him, what made it worse was he knew there was nothing he could really do that would make any real impact on the investigation into the creepy lady who knew so much about him. Even though knowing that none of his known enemies were after him narrowed down the list more than Clint would like to admit, he was still a big distance from discovering who she was and, possibly more importantly, what she wanted.

There was a crackling in his comm that alerted Clint to the fact that someone was about to contact him.

 _“Hey Legolas! Just checking in to let you know we're leaving now to go on a very dangerous and exciting mission. By the way, I have the Star Wars movies on my TV. So, uh, if you're bored..._ ”

_“Don't be an ass, Tony.”_

_“What? I'm just saying.”_

_“Well, don't, Stark. Barton has better things to do than listen to you patronise him.”_

_“I'm sorry, did you say patriotic? God bless Ameri-”_

Clint turned off his comm, if he were on the mission no doubt he would be leading the usual banter, snark and sass that took place over the comms, however, it only served to remind him he was, for the moment, on some kind of probation. With decidedly little else to do, Clint decided to investigate his new home. At the very least he could figure out the routes of the ventilation system.

* * *

 

“Tony! Quit showing off and use those repulsors for something more useful than a light show!” Nat yelled, diving out of a bullet's path.

 _“I'm trying!”_ Tony snapped back, _“but something's screwing with my suit!”_

“Then unscrew it!” Steve shouted, throwing his shield like a frisbee. “Because these are some _very_ angry terrorists. And I'm pretty sure Fury said their weapons were 'nothing compared to us'?!”

_“Get with it, Cap'. Fury lies.”_

_“Tony has a point.”_ Natasha said through her comm, firing her own gun from behind the shelter of a blown-up wall.

_“Thank you, now as I wa- Oh no! Crap, shit. F- INCOMING!”_

_“What the hell is- Is that a bomb?!”_

“Everybody, go go go!” Steve boomed. “Where the hell is Thor?!”

There was a loud roar, and the object the three Avengers had taken to be a bomb landing with a crash in front of them.

“Am I late?” Thor asked, grinning madly.

_“Oh no, you just got here for the fun bit.”_

“Can it, Stark. Formation 301, engage.” Steve ordered.

* * *

 

Clint didn't like cats, it was simple really. They had a mutual disliking of one another that was best solved by keeping their distance from each other. And, if he was honest, Clint didn't really think Tony was an animal guy. So it begged the question, why did he have a cat wandering around his tower like it owned the place? Deciding that weirder things had happened, Clint shrugged off the unexpected appearance of the black cat and continued his exploration of the tower. He was looking through the lower levels at the time, in fact, he was in the basement. Well, one of them. Clint wasn't sure how many basements a guy needed, but apparently if you were Tony Stark then it was more than five.

Stepping back inside the elevator, Clint scanned the buttons, chewing on his lip as he decided, finally, he pressed the one labelled 'A'. When the elevator doors dinged open, Clint's only, and rather understated reaction, was to quirk an eyebrow as he eyed the wide assortment of weapons lining the walls and displayed on tables in the large room. He realised there were three 'sections' to the room, one was decorated in red, white and blue, the other in black and red, and the last in purple and red. The corner of Clint's lip curled upward as he guessed who each section belonged to, he stepped past Steve's personal armoury, and Nat's, and carried straight on to his.

Bows of all kinds were hung on the wall, as were many different, and inventive, forms of arrows and quivers. Not only his trademark weapons, but also guns, sniper rifles and pistols, and even a few that Clint couldn't name off the top of his head. He decided not to think about why Tony had thought it would be necessary to put a pair of knuckle-dusters in his armoury. Before Clint could even begin to finish looking through his own little armoury (though little was perhaps the wrong word to use), his comm crackled into life.

Frowning, he tapped at it, it was probably Stark, he mused, overriding it.

 _“You didn't return my call.”_ Said a familiar voice through the comm. _“I have to say, I was rather disappointed.”_

“You'll understand that I _don't care_ how you feel.” Clint ground out through gritted teeth, turning and running for the elevator.

 _“Yes well, anyway. I do have a reason for contacting you again, Clinton Francis Barton.”_ The female voice continued, unaffected by his words.

Clint wasn't even going to contemplate how she knew his full name, instead he stood in the elevator, furiously pressing the button to his room's floor.

 _“I understand that you aren't taking part in a mission that your fellows are on.”_ She continued calmly, _“I wonder why that is.”_

“Because of you, you bitch.” Clint snapped, his temper getting the better of him as he sprinted out of the elevator, almost knocking into Bruce.

“Woah! Hey, Clint, what are you doing?” The scientist called after him, but the assassin paid no heed.

“JARVIS! My suit's in here, right?” Clint shouted as he entered his room.

“Yes, Agent Barton.” JARVIS replied. “But I believe you are supposed to remain in the tower.”

“Suit. Now.” Clint growled.

 _“Oh, are you going to pay me a visit? How will you do that, when even your clever little inventor can't track me?”_ The woman asked, sounding coolly amused.

A partition of the wall in Clint's room slid to the side, revealing his suit, which he quickly began putting on.

“You'd be surprised.” He said simply.

_“I'm sure, but, to provide you with a little incentive, Connie James. You remember her, I take it? Well, we have her here. And she is oh-so-eager to see you again, William.”_

Clint snarled, slipping into the suit that felt like a second skin to him and grabbing his bow, quiver, and a gun. There was already a small armoury of knives hidden in his suit.

“You let her go. You let her go. NOW!” He shouted, rushing onto his balcony and eyeing the distance to the street.

 _“Really, Clint? Threats? Or is it suicide you're contemplating? Yes, that's right.”_ The woman's voice was soft now, amused in a terrifying way. “ _We can see you, are you going to jump, Clint? Is that your plan? Jump now and end it all. It's simple, I'll give you that.”_

“Just remember,” Clint said, his voice quiet, edged with ice. “I warned you, I told you. I told you to let her go. But you wouldn't, you thought you'd be clever. And, lady, that was a big mistake. Because you might know everything about me, and that means you're good. But I can guarantee, you might be good, but me? I'm better.”

And with that, Clint Barton jumped from the 53rd floor of the Avengers' Tower.

 

“NO!”

Bruce could only stare as he watched his team-mate leap off the balcony, he sprinted to the balcony and leaned over the edge as far as he dared. There, Clint was abseiling down the side of the tower until he became just a speck and then nothing.

Breathing heavily, Bruce turned on his comm. _“Uh, guys, I hope you're done over there. We... kinda have a problem. It's Clint, he, well... He's flown the nest.”_

* * *

 

“What do you mean 'Barton's gone'. Gone where?” Fury demanded, slamming a fist down on his desk as he glared at the five Avengers standing in front of him.

“Well that's just the thing, we don't know.” Tony said, flipping up the face of the Iron Man suit.

“What did you say he was doing before he jumped?” Fury questioned Bruce, who shrugged helplessly.

“He ran past me, nearly knocked me over, then he took his suit and weapons from his room. I didn't really hear what he was saying, but he was talking to someone on his comm. And I don't think it was anyone friendly, from his reaction.”

“Why didn't you try and stop him?” Fury asked, glowering at Bruce.

Again, the man shrugged. “It was his own business, he could have been running after that damn cat for all I know.”

Fury gave a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I'll have S.H.I.E.L.D agents out looking for him. And I want you all out looking for him too. All of you.” He added meaningfully, scanning the Avengers.

They all nodded and filed out, save for Natasha, who looked paler than usual but nonetheless fixed Fury with an icy glare. “You better put your best agents out there for this, Fury.” She hissed, leaning into his personal space over the desk. “Because if you don't, I swear I will make things very unpleasant for you.” And with that, she disappeared from the room as though she had never been there.

Sighing once more, Fury reached into a drawer of his desk and fetched out an aspirin, if assassins and aliens didn't kill him, then Clint Barton may well be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, guys, for sticking with this. This was a short chapter, I know. But every story needs a bit of a filler, right?


	5. An Office, A Warehouse, A Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really short chapter. Definite filler- be warned! But, the next chapter is much longer and should be up right away!

All things considered, Clint may have been a _bit_ rash in leaving the Avengers Tower so quickly, but at the time it had seemed like the only possible solution. Now he was driving through the never-ending New York traffic to try and reach S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, preferably without being seen or having his presence immediately announced for all to hear. Fortunately, Clint had made it his business to know all the ins and outs of the Headquarters that rivalled even Fury, Coulson and Natasha's knowledge of the place. So, when he reached the main road leading up to the towering building, he pulled over and parked, then set off at a jog.

Fifteen minutes later and Clint was crawling up a wall to reach the entrance to the ventilation tunnels, although he could have used the help S.H.I.E.L.D had to offer, that would have meant having to cooperate and maybe even settle for decisions that he just wasn't happy with. No, Clint was better off working on this one alone, he'd worked a lot of his most successful missions solo anyway.

After a while, Clint realised he was above his office. It wasn't big or impressive, consisting mainly of a desk and a chair, which was telling of the fact that he spent very little of his time in the room. However, it had a computer and that was all the assassin required at the time.

He dropped lightly into the office and moved quickly to the computer. Within minutes Clint had access to all of S.H.I.E.L.D's files, the ones he needed at least, a skill he'd honed over his many years working for the agency. After attaching his comms to the computer Clint was able to come up with a list of possibles for who was contacting him, once he'd done the same with his phone the list was even smaller. Then Clint had to only scan each of the files before he could figure out who his mysterious caller was. After reading the synopsis of the file twice over, Clint immediately left the computer and jumped back into the ventilation system, he had his trail, now all he had to do was follow it.

* * *

 

Natasha's first point of call was Clint's office, it wasn't far and even if she missed him, she would at least be able to check his computer to see what he had looked at. Upon reaching the office and using his computer, she was able to see that Clint had indeed been there.

She scrolled through the various procedures Clint had used, as well as the coding. It never ceased to surprise Natasha how quick-minded Clint could be when he really put the effort into it, rather than using most of his thought processes for smart-ass comments. As the master assassin reached the end of what Clint had looked at, she bit back a gasp. Apparently Clint hadn't read the whole file, otherwise even he, in all his hot-headedness and ego-fueled energy wouldn't have gone alone.

“ _Guys,_ ” Natasha said into her comms. “ _I know who Clint's gone after. We gotta hurry._ ”

“ _What?!_ ” Tony demanded. “ _How the hell did Barton figure out who he's after?_ ”

“ _He's smarter than you give him credit for,_ ” Nat answered, smirking despite herself as she strode swiftly out of Clint's office. “ _Anyway, not important right now. He's gone after someone dangerous, more than he can handle alone._ ”

“ _If he's so smart-_ ” Tony began, only to be cut off.

“ _Don't, Tony._ ” Steve interrupted. “ _We've got more important things to do. Tasha, how do we find Clint?_

“ _We get Banner first._ ” Natasha said firmly. “ _I have a feeling we might want him with us for this one._ ”

* * *

 

Now that he had a purpose to his mission, and a place to head for, Clint was feeling much happier with his position. His car roared along as he headed for the outskirts of the city, to the area where warehouses were more common than houses. As he drove, Clint glanced down at his phone, he was nearing the location of the caller. Thinking about it, Clint couldn't figure how Stark didn't manage to track the device, even for Clint, it hadn't taken too long. Maybe the inventor was just losing his touch, Clint thought with a shrug. He had to focus now anyway, no time for musing over such things.

Another look at his phone told Clint he was very close to wherever the caller was hiding, with this news he pulled up at the side of the road and exited his car quietly. It would be harder for anybody to know he was approaching if he was on foot. And so, after checking over his equipment one last time, he headed towards the warehouse where the mysterious caller had set themselves up.

* * *

 

“Okay, I'm going to need you to explain that again. Clint's done what?” Bruce asked, cleaning his glasses on a crumpled shirt, an obvious sign that he was anxious.

“He's gone after someone he cannot hope to take,” Natasha said impatiently, increasing the car's speed.

“ _Uh, yeah, we got that._ ” Tony said, “ _but do we get any more information?_ ”

“No,” Natasha said firmly. “Not yet, at least. First we find Clint.”

“Nothing, Tasha?” Steve asked, glancing at her with concern. “Come on, we need something.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving the road. “She trained at the same place as me...”

“ _The Red Room?_ ” Tony asked incredulously, and from the squawking that followed through his comms, it sounded like he narrowly avoided a flock of pigeons.

* * *

 

The warehouse was empty. The freaking warehouse was empty. Clint snarled in frustration and carded his hand through his hair, this was getting ridiculous. He had to find the woman, and Connie... If she really was wherever the woman was. For the hundredth time, Clint turned a 360 on the spot, sharp eyes scanning every spot of the warehouse for something.

Then there was something, a soft step from behind him.

 

“Yes,” Natasha replied. “Do you understand now?”

“But Clint's still an assassin,” Bruce pointed out. “And he's no pushover, how can you be so sure he won't be able to deal with this Red Room assassin?”

 

And another.

Slowly, Clint began to turn, subtly slipping a knife into his hand.

 

“Because... she's a Black Widow.”

“I thought only you had earned the title.” Thor said, sounding bemused.

 

One more, then the steps stopped.

Clint continued to turn.

 

“No,” Natasha took a breath. “There was one other.”

“Another? Tasha, does Fury know?”

 

He stopped, in front of him was a woman. Her cold smile matched the voice from the phone calls.

 

“ _Nevermind that._ ” Tony snapped, he was all business now that he realised the danger Clint was in. “ _Can you tell us anything else?_ ”

 

The woman held up her hands, she wore a black catsuit similar to the one Natasha had worn when she and Clint had first met. Her eyes held the same ice as Nat's sometimes did, but only when she was truly furious.

 

“Her name, perhaps?” Steve prompted.

 

The blonde hair fell just past her shoulders.

 

“Natasha, please.” Bruce said. “It could be important.”

 

“Hello, Clint.” She said, and just the sound of her voice made Clint itch for his bow to be in his hand, preferably with an arrow nocked and aiming at her heart.

 

“Yelena. Yelena Belova.”

 

“But we'll have to continue this conversation somewhere else.” She said.

And that was when Clint felt something hit his neck, with a frown he tugged it out and stared and the feathered dart uncomprehendingly. That was, until his knees buckled underneath him and the last thing Clint saw before he succumbed to darkness was the cold, snake-like smile flickering across the woman's lips.


	6. An Interrogation, A Search, A Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the big chapter! But the story's far from over... Let me know what you think and thank you CatLea for your continued support!

“ _So, to summarise, Clint's gone after the only person in the world who could be a better assassin than you two; alone, I might add, and now we have to save his sorry ass. Remind me again how he made this team?_ ”

“ _Tony,_ ” Natasha said slowly, drawing out the name like a threat. “ _Shut. Up._ ”

“ _Right, got it. What's our plan?_ ”

“Get Clint out of there before he gets himself killed. I'll leave the details to you, Cap.”

“Okay,” Steve rolled his shoulders. “First things first, we are now treating this as a mission. Codenames only. Oh, and someone let Fury know what we're doing.”

* * *

 

Finding your way back to consciousness after being knocked out, be it by drug or force, is always an unpleasant experience; one that Clint knew all too well. He was also overly familiar with waking up restrained in some fashion or other (and not in the kinky way, which, honestly, would have been preferable). However, his extensive knowledge of being kidnapped was also more helpful than it wasn't, and Clint was immediately on alert, not opening his eyes the moment he awoke in the hopes of overhearing something that would give him a clue as to where he was.

“Nice of you to finally join me, Clint.”

Fuck. Well, so much for that plan.

“You know me,” he said with a cold smile as he opened his eyes. “Hate to keep a lady waiting, you on the other hand...”

The blonde-haired woman laughed, she actually _laughed_. “Ah, there it is. The famous bravado, the undying wit, the eternal attitude that, quite frankly, will probably be the reason for your death.”

“Yeah...” Clint shifted in the chair that was holding him (okay, a chair, good. He could easily break it and figure a way out of here.) “You're not some kind of overenthusiastic fangirl are you? I mean, I'm flattered 'n' all, but you could write a letter. Or just stick to the creepy phone calls.”

“Hm,” Blondie (for lack of her real name) appeared to be tired of him already, Clint wasn't sure whether he should find that positive or not. “No, I am not a fangirl. Though, I am quite a fan of some of your work. Just how did a circus-boy end up working for one of the world's top information agencies?”

Clint set his jaw and didn't answer, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.

“No answer? That's alright, the interrogation hasn't begun yet, I was merely curious.” Blondie said with a light shrug, she straightened from where she had been seemingly resting against the wall. “Do you know why you are here, Clint?”

“I assumed it was because of my blinding grin and approachable personality,” he deadpanned, stiffening as Blondie crossed the room (he now noticed it was bare, metal walls with the only furniture in the room being the chair he was sat on) and leaned into his personal space.

“Not quite,” she purred, her eyes were unerringly similar to Nat's, Clint noticed. “Not important anyway,” Blondie decided abruptly, suddenly standing to her full height. “Do you know who I am?”

“You sure ask a load of pointless questions,” Clint noted.

“ _I_ ,” she said imperiously, “am _The_ Black Widow.”

Clint chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her, “you know, I've got a... friend who would disagree with you kinda strongly on that point.”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” the 'Black Widow' said knowingly. “Yes, I'm sure she would. But you see, Clint,” and all of a sudden she was in his personal space again. “Natalia has had her day, her time is passed. There can only be one Black Widow.”

“Yeah? Then you're not it.” Clint said, not giving a centimetre of space as she edged closer to him. “How do you know that name, anyway?”

“Oh,” 'Black Widow' giggled, which was by far the most unnerving thing she'd done so far. “Natalia and I go way back. We trained together, did you know that? Yes, she and I, we were always the best. But Natalia was _favoured_ , it was always about her. She always got chosen for the most difficult missions.” The mood of the 'Black Widow' changed again and she practically snarled the words, eyes hardening.

“O-okay, I get it, you've got a superiority complex,” Clint said. “But don't you think this is kind of the wrong to go about sorting it?”

“No, no, no.” 'Black Widow' said, shaking her head and retreating slightly, pouting as though she were a child. “You're wrong, this has nothing to do with Natalia. This has _everything_ to do with you.”

“Enough riddles!” Clint snapped, “why were you calling me? Why did you tell me Connie was here? Why did you take me? And what does any of this have to do with me?!”

“None of this was my decision,” 'Black Widow' said, shrugging casually. “I was simply following orders.”

“Who gave you the orders?” Clint asked, it wasn't her? She could be lying, of course, but he didn't see the reasoning for that.

“I can't tell you that... yet.” She said, smirking. “Enough questions from you, and enough distractions from me.” 'Black Widow' continued, “now, your interrogation begins.” A cruel smile took over her features, “how loud can you scream, Clint?”

* * *

 

They found his car. It was abandoned at the side of the road, his weapons were missing from it, and not a single clue was there to tell them where Clint had gone.

“ _Iron Man,_ ” Natasha snapped into the comms, “ _get down here. Now._ ”

“Iron Man reporting for duty,” he said, landing in front of the four. “What do you need?”

“Track Hawkeye's comms, or his phone. No, both.” Natasha ordered, “we've got to be close; he can't have gone far on foot.”

“On it.”

Natasha turned to the rest of the team, “Thor, fly over scrapyard, Iron Man, you too and let us know if you find something.”

“Yup.”

“Aye!”

“Cap', you and me check the warehouse.”

“What about me, Widow?”

Natasha thought for a minute, “Hulk, I need you to suit up and damage that scrapyard, uncover anything Iron Man and Thor might have missed initially.” She said, adding an apologetic smile.

Bruce nodded and jogged to the scrapyard that Tony and Thor were already cruising over.

* * *

 

“I'll ask nicely again, what do you know about the Council?”

“I told you,” Clint growled, “ _nothing_. I'm just an assassin, I get my orders and I follow through. Nothing more, nothing less.”

'Black Widow' smiled patronisingly, “forgive me if I don't believe you.” She said, delivering a powerful blow to Clint's jaw with a crack.

“I can't tell you something I don't know!” Clint spat blood from his mouth, “you want me to make it up, huh? I'm sure that'd go down real well with your superiors.”

“But you do know,” she hissed, ducking once more into his personal space. “I know you do, and you're going to tell me everything.”

“I don't,” he said lowly. “Why would anyone tell me anything?”

“Because you've been working for S.H.I.E.L.D since you were eighteen, you must be one of their longest living employees. You are also an Avenger.” 'Black Widow' said, as though this was new information to him. “The secrets you must know,” she said, giggling again. “Oh, I bet just one of them could topple the government, and not just the American one.”

She was crazy, Clint decided, definitely crazy. Nice on, Barton, he thought to himself. Got yourself captured by a crazy assassin. Ah, how he wished it was for the first time.

“You know what,” her personality had switched again, back to the cool, calm, somewhat casual one. “I can tell you're not going to break.” She said.

“ _It's time._ ” 'Black Widow' said, only this time it was clear she wasn't speaking to Clint, to a comms, more likely.

Within seconds two burly looking guys (no match for Thor or Steve, but still) entered the room, both with two Machine Pistols holstered at each hip (and no doubt an assortment of knives and guns hidden around their bodies).

“Take him,” 'Black Widow' ordered coldly.

Clint knew it was now or never, while he had no idea whether he could take 'the Black Widow' or not, he knew he could take these goons. He allowed them to untie him and haul him upright, when they had both taken a firm grip of an arm and were standing on either side of him, Clint struck. Jerking backwards with a sudden force, he managed to unbalance both of them, in the short seconds they took to catch themselves, he had broken one's arm and the other was already unconscious. Another three seconds and the second had joined his colleague on the floor. Warily, Clint turned to face 'the Black Widow'. Her reaction was not quite what he expected.

“Well, it's about fucking time.”

“Errr...” _What?!_ “I'm sorry, what?”

“Come on, I know the way out of here, we can get your weapons back too, I guess you'll want them.” 'Black Widow' said, moving toward the door.

“No. Stop,” Clint blocked her path. “What the hell? You harass me over the phone; threaten me; lie about kidnapping my ex-wife; kidnap me; break my nose; give me what I'm pretty sure is gonna be a black eye; and now you want to help me escape?! No, sorry lady. Back up and explain otherwise I ain't going nowhere.”

'The Black Widow' sighed impatiently and glanced agitatedly at the door, before saying: “They think they've got me under control.”

“Who?” Clint demanded, crossing his arms.

The corner of her lip quirked upward, “if a head is cut off, two more will take its place.”

* * *

 

“ _Found something!_ ”

“Hulk find.”

“ _What you got, Iron Man?_ ”

“ _I got a lead on Hawkeye's phone, it's underground somewhere in this vicinity._ ”

“ _Care to be more specific?_ ”

“Hulk find!”

“ _Well, it's underground. That's pretty hard to be specific about._ ”

“HULK FIND!”

“ _Find what?_ ”

“Entrance.”

“ _Holy shit, Hulk. That was quick._ ”

"Team hurry.”

“ _On our way._ ”

* * *

 

“That's cute, now give me a straight answer.” Clint growled, not moving an inch.

“I _can't_ ,” she said, exasperated.

“And why the hell not?” He said, glowering down at her. “I have to know I can trust you a little, I'm not stupid.”

“I should have, and could have, killed you when you took those guys out. But I didn't, that not good enough for you?” 'Black Widow' asked, glaring right back at him.

Okay, that was a pretty good reason, and Clint didn't exactly have a lot of options. “Fine,” he agreed grudgingly. “But if you try anything-” He began to warn her.

“I'm _certain_ you'll take me out too,” she said drily, pushing past him and out into a corridor that was just as dank and desolate as the room Clint had just been locked in. “Just follow me, and try to blend in. I can't get you out of here if you act like a moron.”

“So much for chivalrous rescuers,” Clint grumbled under his breath. If he kept up the sarcasm and annoying attitude, it might just keep him distracted enough from his negative thoughts to get him out of this place alive.

If 'the Black Widow' heard him, she neither commented nor reacted.

The place, wherever and whatever it was, they were in had surprisingly few people around. Or maybe that was just the route Blondie was taking, within half an hour (this place could give S.H.I.E.L.D a run for its money on complex bases) they were standing outside a plain door.

“Your weapons are in here,” Blondie said, Clint made no move to open the door.

“Ladies first,” he said sarcastically, motioning for her to open it.

Blondie cocked an eyebrow but said noting, opening the door and stepping inside. When there was no obvious ambush, Clint stepped inside after her and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at the sight of his bow and arrows. After assembling his arsenal once again, he turned to Blondie and nodded, feeling _much_ more confident.

“Let's get the hell out of here, Blondie.”

“Blondie?” She asked, seeming to regret the question the second it left her lips as they exited the room and began to jog down yet another corridor.

“Well, you wouldn't give me a proper name.” Clint explained. He could have sworn he saw the tiniest hint of a smile flash across her features, but if he did, it was cleared away in less than a second.

“I have many names,” she said after a minute's silence. “Your friend Natalia calls me Rooskaya, or Pale Little Spider.”

“And what do you call you?” Clint pressed, he couldn't help it; she reminded him so much of a younger Natasha- the one he had first met. “Aside from the Black Widow.”

It took a full eight minutes for her to answer as they continued to jog, turning when she did and stopping twice when guards (that's what Clint assumed they were) crossed their path.

“Yelena Belova.” The name was spoken so softly Clint barely heard it.

“That's your name?” He asked lowly, “Yelena?”

“Yes.”

They didn't talk after that, instead they just kept running.

* * *

 

“You can't break through the doors?!”

“Too strong.”

“Mjolnir cannot either.”

“How is that possible?!”

“They could be made of vibranium.”

“I thought your shield was the only thing made of that?”

“I don't know.”

“Iron Man, can you override this?”

“Yes, probably- almost definitely. Look, I'm working on it, alright?”

* * *

 

They had reached an elevator.

“No trying to kill me?” Clint said, looking at Yelena solemnly.

“Not even a little,” she promised. “As long as you keep that promise too.”

“Deal.” Clint nodded, deciding not to offer a hand to shake; he didn't trust her _that_ much.

Having to stand in that elevator was the most nerve-wrecking thing Clint had had to do in a long time. He was so caught up in trying to ease his nerves that he didn't notice Yelena next to him, subtly reaching into a pocket and pushing something in her ears. What he did notice, however, was when she pulled out a Stark Industries phone.

“Hey, woah! What are you doing?” He asked, immediately on alert and attempting to snatch the phone.

Yelena seemed to ignore him, but neatly stepped out of his reach, she turned to him and locked his eyes with hers. “Hydra,” she said, her voice slightly louder than it should have been.

“What? Give me tha-” Clint lunged forward to grab the phone, but too little too late.

Yelena pressed down on the screen and for a fraction of a second, Clint thought nothing had happened. Nothing, that was, until he felt the elevator shake and then heard a roar. Clint had been the cause of enough explosions in his time to know what they sounded like, and that meant Yelena had just blown up whatever place they had just escaped. It also meant they were still in the blast zone, which meant-

* * *

 

“Did you feel that?” Natasha demanded, looking at her team-mates.

“Felt like an earthquake,” Steve mused with a small frown.

“Didn't register as an earthquake,” Tony interjected. “JARVIS registered it as contained within roughly this area.”

“You mean where Clint is, possibly exactly where whatever set off those tremors is.” Natasha snapped, running a hand through her hair and chewing her lip.

“Tasha-” Steve began.

“Don't,” she growled. “Hurry up, Stark!”

Thor glanced up at the Hulk uncomfortably and the Hulk looked back down at him. “It is possible that Clint was not involved in this,” Thor offered.

Natasha snorted derisively, shaking her head. “Do you even know the guy? Of course he was.”

For the next five minutes there was only silence as Tony continued to work on the doors, until, suddenly, there was an anticlimactic _bing_ as they opened.

“Well done,” Steve grinned, slapping Tony on the shoulder.

But the genius looked bewildered, “as much as I'd love to take credit, that wasn't me.”

The five Avengers peered inside what seemed to be an elevator, (though for some reason it appeared to be filled with smoke) each one of them prepared to fight. There was a sudden movement from inside the elevator and a voice called out.

“Help me! Stop staring and help me!” The voice was feminine, and the words were shouted as an order, remarkably little emotion involved.

Natasha stepped forward first, even if it was a trap, Clint was definitely in that elevator; he had to be. He was, and Natasha wasted no time in grabbing his arms as Steve got his legs and hauling him out of the smoke filled box and onto the dusty ground. Clint was unconscious, but that was okay; unconscious they could deal with. A further assessment of him showed a blackening right eye; a broken nose and a trickle of blood running down his forehead which was probably the cause of the unconsciousness. Assured that Clint was alive and relatively well, Natasha turned her attention to the woman in the elevator, who was now standing just outside of it, brushing golden locks out of her face.

“Yelena,” the ruby-haired assassin breathed. “So it is you.”

“Natalia,” Yelena smiled, though there was no warmth to the gesture. “Clint and I were just discussing you. How long has it been?”

“Since you last tried to kill me?” Natasha asked coolly, “you know, I think I lost track of time. Now get on your knees,” she snapped out the last sentence as an order.

“Excuse me?” Yelena had the audacity to look outraged. “Why?”

“Well, I could take my pick of many charges against you from past years, but you know which one I'm going to go with. Kidnapping a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, that alone is enough to bring you in and put you away for any number of years.” Natasha told her breezily. “Now. Get. On. Your. Knees. I won't ask nicely again.”

The corner of Yelena's lip quirked upwards, “I'm sure.” She murmured as she lowered herself gracefully onto her knees.

“Iron Man, you keep with her until we get back to the car. Hulk, get back to the car.” Natasha ordered, with it implied that Bruce should also change back to himself. “Captain, can you handle Clint?”

Steve smirked slightly and lifted the archer as though he weighed as much as a bag of sugar, “I'm sure I'll manage.”


	7. Another Hospital, A Suspension, A New Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. No activity for months and really, no valid excuse. Ah well, at least this chapter hopefully sets up the next 'installment' of the story.

For the second time in two weeks, Clint awoke in a hospital room. He forced his eyes to crack open and winced at the thumping pain in his head, he also immediately noticed the complete lack of sound in the room. Once his vision cleared, Clint found himself looking at Coulson, impeccably dressed in a suit, as always.

 _“Nice of you to join us,”_ Coulson signed, his expression giving nothing away. _“Y-e-l-e-n-a,”_ (Coulson had to spell out the assassin's name). _“Blew up the base you two had just left. Your hearing aids were irreparably damaged by the explosion. We have some new hearing aids ready for you. Stark has decided to make you some new ones.”_ Coulson sighed, Clint could tell by the man's expression it was one of the sighs Coulson saved for when an agent (Clint) did something unbelievably stupid. _“What did you think you were doing?”_ He signed.

Clint shrugged as best he could, and instead of answering, signed back: _“what is going to happen now?”_

 _“Fury is...”_ Coulson paused, before shaking his head slightly and continuing to sign. _“Furious. You have been taken off active duty effective immediately for an indefinite amount of time. He will talk with about this more when you are more recovered.”_

Clint nodded very slightly and grimaced, he had a feeling he knew what he was in for.

* * *

 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” Fury roared, Clint did his best not to wince; Stark's new hearing aids were very effective. “You _honestly_ thought it was a good idea to run off after a high level, largely unknown assassin, without telling anybody where you were going?” Fury demanded, leaning forwards on his desk, and continued before Clint could defend himself. “I understand that you believed this was personal, but you promised me that when you came back to S.H.I.E.L.D working like this, you would have _no other_ loyalty. _Even_ if that loyalty was to your ex-wife, or your son.”

“Sir,” Clint started, but Fury wasn't done.

“It is clear to me that you are nowhere _near_ fit for duty. However, you may live at the Avengers Tower; rather than being detained to a S.H.I.E.L.D base, and you may continue to train with the Avengers, _but_. You will do this on the grounds that you agree to regular psychiatric sessions with one of our doctors; as it is _blindingly_ obvious that the control Loki exercised over you has damaged your psyche in some way.” Fury took a breath and looked levelly at Clint, “I hope so, at least. Because if it didn't, then I think you have completely gone off the rails, Barton.”

Clint didn't allow a flicker of emotion to cross his face, spinning on his heel from the spot he had been standing to attention at, and striding rigidly from the office.

* * *

 

In the weeks since the incident; as it was now being called, Clint barely spoke to any of his team-mates. Yes, he lived in the same building as them, but that didn't make them hard to avoid. Bruce mainly stayed down in his lab. Tony would either be in a lab with Bruce, working on his suits, or out on some PR thing. Thor generally divided his time between living wherever Jane was currently working, or the tower, but Clint knew how to avoid him. Steve and Natasha were regularly out on S.H.I.E.L.D missions, or ones with the rest of the Avengers, but either way Clint could hack the S.H.I.E.L.D database to see when their missions were set for. That, and the fact that Natasha was still painfully mad at him.

Clint spent most of his time working out at the gym, and when that became an obvious place for his team-mates to find him, he simply bought the equipment he needed and started his own private gym in his room. When not working out, Clint would be down in the armoury, honing his already flawless aim; and practising with other weapons. He kept with his appointments, never once was he late, nor did he miss one. But neither did they seem to do any good for him, Clint came away from the appointments the same as when he arrived to them. The worst part, for Clint, was that he still hadn't been put back on active duty. Not even a tiny Level 1 mission. Nothing. In fact, Clint's life fell into something of a routine, which was vaguely disturbing.

That was, until he got a call. It took Clint a moment to realise it was his phone ringing; he hadn't had a phone call in over a month.

“Yeah?” He answered, slightly breathless as he stepped away from the punching bag.

 _“Barton,”_ it was Agent Coulson speaking. _“One of our prisoners has requested to see you.”_

“What?” Who the hell would want to see him?

 _“One of our prisoners has requested to see you.”_ Coulson repeated. _“Yelena Belova. I'm sure you remember her.”_ Oh, he certainly did. In fact, Clint had spent rather a lot of his time wondering what had happened to her.

“Why?”

 _“I imagine she's bored.”_ Coulson replied drily. _“Anyway, Fury has approved of it,and I don't imagine you have anything better to do.”_ Although Coulson didn't say the words cruelly, rather in the matter-of-fact way that he so suited, it still set off a spark of something in Clint.

“Sure, I'll come along. What time?” That was the longest sentence he'd spoken in a while.

 _“Tomorrow, nine o'clock, be punctual.”_ After that all Clint could hear was the dial tone; signalling that Coulson had hung up.

* * *

 

Being Level 7 clearance, Clint didn't have to have an escort down to where they were keeping Yelena, not anymore, that was. For two weeks after he'd been suspended from active duty, he'd had to have an escort every time he went in the Hub. Now all he had to do was go through security, like everybody else. Clint knew the way down to the cells well; he knew all of the Hub well, but the cells held quite a collection of mixed memories for him. They were where he'd first been taken to by S.H.I.E.L.D when they brought him in at just eighteen, he'd spent a lot of his time there in his early years. After that, he'd brought Natasha to them when he'd brought her in. The cells in themselves weren't uncomfortable, they were just average-sized bedrooms, with a single bed, and a door leading to a compact en suite. What made them uncomfortable was the fact that they were completely white, and that with no furniture other than the bed, and the security cameras in all corners, you couldn't help but feel stripped bare and exposed to the world.

Yelena was, to Clint's surprise, sitting on the floor, her legs spread forwards as she leant back against the side of the bed. No longer was she wearing a black catsuit, it had been replaced with the standard issue clothes that S.H.I.E.L.D issued to its prisoners, loose white trousers, a white shirt, and underneath that, a white t-shirt, along with white trainers. The effect on Yelena was to make her pale skin more akin to the colour of paper, and her loose blonde hair seemed almost glaring in contrast to the colourless background.

When Clint entered the cell, Yelena lazily opened an eye, which despite her relaxed body language seemed to cut right through him. Her snake-like smile flickered across her lips.

“Punctual,” Yelena noted. It was strange, Clint thought, how her voice was near devoid of accent, like Natasha's had been when Clint had first met her.

“You don't have a clock,” Clint pointed out, and Yelena raised her eyebrows.

“Not all of us need a clock to tell the time.”

Clint smiled thinly, “no, no obviously not.” He stood in front of her, arms casually behind his back, open to her. “Why did you request a visit?” Clint asked, after a minute's silence had ticked slowly on.

Yelena raised her eyes to meet his, curled her legs beneath her and smiled daintily. “I wanted to see you,” she said, as though revealing a great secret.

“Cut the crap,” Clint told her, crossing his arms. “Don't try to play games with me, Yelena.” He warned her. In a flash, the seductress had been wiped away, and Clint found himself looking at the same woman that had helped him escape the base.

“You know,” said Yelena, shifting her body so that she sat on the edge of the bed, legs slightly open. “Most men, and some women, would happily pretend that that act was all for them.”

“Most of them probably weren't trained in espionage and know exactly what tricks you use and when,” Clint batted back. And most, he thought, hadn't had almost the exact same experience years earlier.

Yelena inclined her head, “that is true.” She paused, studying him for a moment, before saying: “I have to say, I am rather surprised your hearing isn't damaged.”

Clint laughed sarcastically, “and I have to say, I'm surprised your intel didn't pick up on that.”

For a brief moment, Yelena looked puzzled. “What? Oh. Oh. You're deaf,” she looked at him with new appraisal. “That is interesting,” she murmured. “Who would have thought? S.H.I.E.L.D employs deaf agents.”

“I can hear you,” Clint snapped, though it wasn't as wholehearted as he would have liked. “Anyway, I'm not completely impaired.”

“Evidently,” Yelena said, and for only the second time Clint saw what might have been a real smile tug at her features.

Before Clint could reply, an agent opened the door of the cell and leaned in.

“Agent Barton, Director Fury has requested your presence.”

“One more thing,” Clint said, and the agent nodded reluctantly, closing the door as she left. “Tell me,” he said to Yelena. “Why did you want to see me?”

From the way she simply stared at him, head tilted slightly to the side, Clint gathered she was not going to answer him. With a hint of frustration, Clint headed for the door, and it was only when he was halfway out, did Yelena reply.

“I didn't.” She said. “I haven't said a word here. Not until they brought you here.”

Oh man, was Clint going to have words with Fury.

* * *

 

“It's funny,” Clint said as he sauntered into Fury's office. “Because, when Coulson told me that you approved of Belova's request for me to visit, I was kinda under the impression that she would have actually known about it.” He stared at Fury, “so, question is, what game are you playing now?”

Fury sighed, “I need you to work on her. Like you did with-”

“Natasha,” Clint cut in. “But she's not Natasha.”

“No,” Fury agreed. “But she's in the same place Agent Romanoff was. And look what happened with her. I need you to work with her, gain her trust, make her like you.”

Clint spluttered, and Fury rolled his eye.

“Not like that, we all know who you like like _that_. Become her friend, and, of equal importance, get her to tell you every dirty little secret she knows.”

Clint narrowed his eyes, “what do I get for that, sir?”

Fury sighed again, obviously he had anticipated that question. “If you succeed, then you will be considered fit for duty once again.”

Clint nodded smartly, “thank you, sir.” He said, but he still had a few more questions. “Did you look into what I told you about? The HYDRA thing? They can't still be around, can they?”

“We don't know,” Fury said, “but we have some of our best looking into it.”

Clint nodded again, gave a perfunctory 'goodbye, sir' and walked out of the office. He was certain of one thing: as always, Fury knew more than he was letting on.

* * *

 

Natasha wasn't angry. She had been, sure, but who wouldn't have been? Now, she was worried. And she had good reason to be. Yelena Belova, her only real rival from the Red Room had suddenly surfaced again, Clint had gone AWOL and had suddenly become a recluse, and now Fury had out of the blue arranged a meeting with Clint. Natasha had a feeling she knew what about. For some reason, Yelena was obsessed with Clint. She must have been the one that put HYDRA on to him (HYDRA also was a good reason to be worried), and how she had managed to unearth seemingly all of Clint's past missions was nothing short of a miracle. Natasha was also worried because before, well, before she could remember, Yelena had been hell-bent on being better than Natasha. Since the first time Natasha had scored higher on a test that Yelena, she had been completely obsessed with being better than her. With being _the_ best. With being The Black Widow. But now it seemed that obsession had moved over to Clint, with the information Natasha had gathered of Yelena over the past weeks.

This was why Natasha was sitting and waiting for Clint to return to the Avengers Tower. The elevator pinged open and he stepped out, looking only mildly surprised to see Natasha sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, looking directly at him. Without looking at her, Clint walked over to the fridge and peered inside.

“So...” Natasha began carefully. “How'd that meeting with Fury go?”

Clint shrugged nonchalantly, from what she could see of his shoulders. “Fine.” He spoke with equal nonchalance. “He wants me to train up that Belova girl.”

“What?” Natasha demanded, standing up and stepping towards Clint, who looked at her with the same blank expression as that of the past few weeks.

“What?”

“Why you?” Usually, this would have been the point where Clint made a smart-ass comment.

“I dunno. She talks to me?” He said, shrugging again.

Natasha couldn't quite believe it. Clint had talked to Yelena? All of the times Natasha had gone to see her, Yelena hadn't spoken a word, had barely looked at her. What the hell was going on?

“Anyway,” Clint said. “I'm gonna go to my room, so...”

“No, wait, Clint.” She said, catching his arm, the first physical contact between the couple in over a month. “I just- I want you to know that I'm not angry with you. I was,” Natasha admitted. “But I'm not now, I'm just worried.” For a moment, she was worried he would just nod and walk away.

Clint's face relaxed into a small grin, “I know. I'm sorry, y'know, for being a douche. It's just been weird.”

Natasha nodded, a relieved smile forming on her lips. “I know. But, um, I hear you're going to psychiatric appointments?” She asked.

“Yeah, for all the help they've been.” Clint said drily, and Natasha couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled out of her. She'd missed _him_. _Her_ Clint. “There's no food in this place,” Clint said, out of nowhere. “You wanna go out and get something?”

Natasha agreed happily, “I'd love that.”

“Best part is,” Clint said, waving a credit card with a wicked grin. “It's all on Stark.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't everything end happily? Heh, enjoy it while it lasts, guys!


End file.
